


Sleepwalker

by Twelve



Category: Homestuck
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-01-04
Updated: 2013-01-04
Packaged: 2017-11-23 16:26:19
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 494
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/624195
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Twelve/pseuds/Twelve
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Dave sleep walks sometimes and tries to put his katana's in the fridge - idea taken (with permission) from overemotionalfuckery on tumblr.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Sleepwalker

It was three thirty in the morning when Dave Strider got out of bed as if struck with sudden inspiration. He padded across the hardwood floor and into the living room of the flat. The windows were bare and let in the bright lights from the thriving city below, casting deep shadows throughout the apartment. The coffee table was littered with empty Dorito bags, crumpled up paper and multiple shitty story boards. Cords winded their way throughout the apartment, connecting mixers to computers and instruments to amps. 

In the corner stood a collection of swords haphazardly stuck in a tall vase that once held a plant. Dave tripped over a particularly nasty knot of cords in his stupor. Stumbling forward, Dave stubbed his toe on the leg of the coffee table. He swore but continued forward towards the vase. He grabbed as many of the katana's that he could hold out of the vase and fumbled with efficiently holding onto the bunch.   
Walking across the apartment with his hands clutched around the katana's, Dave's face was void of any emotion or thought process. He entered the kitchen and fumbled with opening the refrigerator door. After a few failed attempts at reorganizing the katana's and only minor knicks to his fingers, Dave managed to open the door. The bright light flooded the room. 

Dave shoved the swords into the refrigerator and quickly closed the door. 

 

The next afternoon , Dave woke with a groan. He scratched his head and winced. The room was bright with the sun pouring in through the windows and nearly blinding the groggy artist. Dave slipped his shades onto his face and blinked a few times. 

Getting out of bed and heading towards the kitchen, Dave examined multiple small cuts on his hands. They stung much like a paper cut and felt weird whenever he moved his fingers. He had no idea where they came from. They didn't bleed, but they sure as fuck let you know they were there.   
Dave yawned and stretched, groaning when his back cracked. Sighing in content, Dave pulled open the refrigerator door, with the intentions to grab an apple juice and proceed to laze in front of the television for the rest of the day. 

"Oh fucking shit!" he exclaimed. Upon opening the refrigerator, an obnoxious amount of swords tumbled out onto him. Confused, Dave stood with the door left open staring at the swords at his feet. "Why the fuck...?" he whispered to himself. 

This wasn't the first time he had found his swords in the refrigerator, and other unpractical places, but there was never an explanation for it. Dave was sure if he was going to suddenly keep them cold, he would remember. 

Furrowing his brows, Dave picked up the swords and put them back into the vase across the room. He paused and looked around his apartment, paranoid with the sudden thought that someone was there.... 

He would have to set up cameras.


End file.
